


Not Like This

by tbhcumedpant



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Condescension, Degradation, Dialogue Heavy, Extremely Dubious Consent, Hand Jobs, I'm sorry Mr. Esmail, M/M, Name-Calling, Not Canon Compliant, Porn With Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Tyrell is not having fun, attempted revival, grave robbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:13:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29003526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tbhcumedpant/pseuds/tbhcumedpant
Summary: Mr. Robot coerces Tyrell to help him upload Angela's brain into a computer after she's murdered. Complications and conflict ensue.(Doesn't fit in any canon timeline, not canon compliant at all)
Relationships: Elliot Alderson/Tyrell Wellick, Mr. Robot/Tyrell Wellick
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	Not Like This

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know, this fandom is basically dead. But the recent resurgence of my hyperfixation on Mr. Robot mixed with an acute case of writer's block has led me... well, here. Hope you enjoy this fic, despite it being a bit rushed! Oh, and another thing: I recommend you put on some music and crank up your imagination, because this shit is written in form of a screenplay. cheers B^)

**EXT. CEMETERY – DAY**

We open to a funeral. The closed casket is illuminated by the blinding sun. We see a lot of folding chairs, mostly empty save for ELLIOT and TYRELL.

**TYRELL**

It’s lonely at the top…

Elliot does not respond.

**INT. TYRELL’S PENTHOUSE – NIGHT**

Tyrell starts writing a text to Elliot. Through the screen of his smartphone, we see him type out:

TYRELL: It’s been a while, Elliot. Are you okay?

He deletes it. Then, we hear a knock. Tyrell walks to the door and looks through the peephole. He opens the door with an excited smile.

**TYRELL**

Elliot!

**MR. ROBOT**

Hey, asshole.

**TYRELL**

Oh. It’s you.

**MR. ROBOT**

Aren’t you gonna ask if I’d like to come in?

**TYRELL**

(with a sigh)

What do you want?

Mr. Robot takes this as a _yes_ and steps into the horridly minimalistic apartment. Tyrell is still staring at him.

**MR. ROBOT**

Would you close the damn door already?

He takes a seat on the couch. Tyrell looks a bit taken aback, but he closes the door.

**TYRELL**

Why isn’t Elliot calling back?

**MR. ROBOT**

Clinginess really isn’t a good look on you.

He lights a cigarette.

**TYRELL**

Hey, you can’t—

**MR. ROBOT**

I’m gonna need your help with something.

**TYRELL**

Can you put out that cigarette? I _just_ got new curtains.

**MR. ROBOT**

So?

He glances at the dull, white fabric.

**MR. ROBOT (CONT’D)**

Just buy new ones, Gatsby.

**TYRELL**

(trying to sound assertive; what he says ends up sounding more like a plea)

Seriously, smoke gets into everything. Stop.

**MR. ROBOT**

It’s for Elliot.

He haphazardly ashes his cigarette onto the carpet.

**TYRELL**

(grimacing)

What?

**MR. ROBOT**

The thing I’m gonna need your help with. Jesus, at least try to keep up.

**TYRELL**

Sorry—

**MR. ROBOT**

Listen. I’d love to do this without you, but Elliot doesn’t have a car.

**TYRELL**

What exactly are we doing?

**MR. ROBOT**

Reviving Angela.

He flicks his cigarette to the side.

**INT. TYRELL’S CAR – NIGHT**

Tyrell is driving. His fingers nervously tap on the steering wheel. Mr. Robot is in the passenger seat.

**MR. ROBOT**

Make a left turn there. (pause) Yeah.

**TYRELL**

You’re suspiciously calm for someone who is about to commit multiple felonies.

**MR. ROBOT**

And you’re way too fuckin’ nervous for someone who’s strangled a woman in cold blood. Compared to that, this is nothing. Right turn.

**TYRELL**

It just feels unnecessary.

**MR. ROBOT**

Let me be the judge of that. (pause) The kid’s depressed. He won’t come out anymore, hasn’t for weeks.

**TYRELL**

(sarcastically)

So, you’re going to play god? That’s your solution?

**MR. ROBOT**

No, dumbass, _we’re_ going to play god. Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that what _you_ wanted?

**TYRELL**

Not like this.

**MR. ROBOT**

Oh, cry me a river. I give you the chance to do something nice for Elliot, and you find a way to bitch about it. Go figure.

**EXT. CEMETERY – NIGHT**

Mr. Robot (holding a shovel) and Tyrell get out of the car. The sky is pitch black and there is no wind. Everything is silent. The two of them walk over to Angela’s gravestone.

**MR. ROBOT**

Actually, you take this.

He hands Tyrell the shovel. There’s an awkward silence.

**MR. ROBOT (CONT’D)**

What are you waiting for? Dig.

Tyrell stands over the grave and reluctantly starts digging. A few moments later, we hear the shovel hit something hard.

**TYRELL**

What now?

**MR. ROBOT**

Well, go on. Open her up.

Tyrell opens the casket with a grunt and immediately stumbles backwards.

**TYRELL**

(coughing)

God, the smell…

**MR. ROBOT**

Keep it together, Wellick. Give me— Give me the shovel. Thanks.

Mr. Robot takes a calculated swing and thrusts the shovel into Angela’s neck. And again. We hear a crack.

**TYRELL**

(distressed)

What the fuck are you doing?

**INT. TYRELL’S CAR – NIGHT**

We see Tyrell (on the verge of tears) and Mr. Robot (expressionless) in the car.

CUT TO:

A medium-sized, black bag in the back seat.

CUT TO:

The seemingly endless open road in front of the car. Another vehicle speeds past.

**INT. ELLIOT’S APARTMENT – NIGHT**

The apartment is a mess, notebook pages and empty mugs flood the floor. There are a few pills on the bedside table. The light is dim. Mr. Robot carelessly drops the bag onto the floor. A thud. Tyrell winces. Mr. Robot goes over to Elliot’s desk and pushes aside some clutter. He logs into the computer. We see a few windows flash on the screen:

“THE FUTURE OF NEURALINK”

“BRAIN UPLOADING - RECENT DEVELOPMENT”

“CLASSIFIED FILE”

“NEURON RECONSTRUCTION”

“CLASSIFIED FILE”

“EXPERIMENTAL DATA”

“ANOTHER LIFE - EMPIRICAL ANALYSIS”

Mr. Robot opens a document. It looks like an instructional manual. He quickly scrolls past a few pages and nods to himself. He gets a few cables and small electrical components out of a drawer. He gestures at Tyrell to open the bag, then walks to the kitchen.

**MR. ROBOT**

(holding a small hammer and a kitchen knife)

So, we don’t have a bone saw. But this should do.

He takes the bag from Tyrell. We hear a few cracks. A few crunches. The sound of skin peeling. Scalp thrown to the side. Tyrell gags.

**MR. ROBOT**

C’mere. You’re gonna insert these—

Tyrell staggers over. Mr. Robot hands him the cables.

**MR. ROBOT (CONT’D)**

Like these instructions say—

He hands him a few crumpled pieces of paper.

**MR. ROBOT (CONT’D)**

While I guide the digital process. Think you got that?

**TYRELL**

(insulted)

I’m not stupid.

**MR. ROBOT**

Whatever helps you sleep at night.

Mr. Robot starts a program and types something in. He nods to Tyrell, whose hand – holding a yellow cable – is trembling. A puncturing sound.

**MR. ROBOT**

(visibly irritated)

Jesus Christ, not there!

**TYRELL**

I’m sorry—

**MR. ROBOT**

No, seriously, what the _fuck_ is wrong with you?

**TYRELL**

Calm down, it was an accident.

**MR. ROBOT**

I don’t care. We can’t do this with you all shaky and nervous—

Mr. Robot grabs Tyrell by the collar and drags him toward Elliot’s bed. Pushes him onto it. Sits next to him.

**MR. ROBOT (CONT’D)**

so, I’ll _make you_ relax.

The sound of pants unzipping.

**TYRELL**

What are you doing—

**MR. ROBOT**

Put your fucking hands away.

**TYRELL**

But—

**MR. ROBOT**

(in a threatening manner)

Put them away.

Mr. Robot spits into his hand.

**MR. ROBOT**

C’mon, c’mon. (pause) There we go.

**TYRELL**

Stop, stop— Don’t—

Mr. Robot ignores him.

**TYRELL**

(voice breaking)

Please— I don’t want this. I don’t—

**MR. ROBOT**

Sure you do. You’re already hard and I’m not even going fast. You’re so fucking easy, it’s pathetic.

Tyrell stifles a moan.

**MR. ROBOT**

(chuckling)

You _like_ this? Like being called a whore?

**TYRELL**

(tearful, looking away)

No—

**MR. ROBOT**

That twitch begs to differ. Alright, I’m gonna speed this up, you’re getting boring. And fucking look at me.

He grabs Tyrell by the hair and turns his head to face him. Tyrell winces in pain.

**TYRELL**

Elliot, I’m—

Mr. Robot backhands him.

**MR. ROBOT**

Don’t fucking call me that.

**TYRELL**

(trying to hold back sobs)

Sorry— I’m sorry— Please—

**MR. ROBOT**

Shut up. (pause) You know, it’s funny. You pretend you’re tough. Big shot in a suit. But behind closed doors, you’ll let anyone fuck you. You convince yourself you’re doing it for a promotion. But, really, you like being treated like the worthless piece of shit you are.

**TYRELL**

(whimpering)

Fuck.

**MR. ROBOT**

Yeah, you’re right. It’s getting dry.

He holds his palm up to Tyrell’s mouth.

**MR. ROBOT**

Spit.

Tyrell spits into his hand.

**MR. ROBOT**

Good boy.

He continues jerking him off.

**MR. ROBOT**

But you know what’s fucking hilarious? You’re head over heels for someone who doesn’t give two fucks about you. You hear that? He doesn’t care.

To his own dismay, Tyrell lets out a moan.

**MR. ROBOT**

Alright, that’s enough. Come for me. C’mon. Come for me. (pause) There we go.

Tyrell collapses into Mr. Robot’s chest, breathing heavy, still crying.

**MR. ROBOT**

Get off me. Go clean yourself, I’ll see what I can do about Angela.

**INT. ELLIOT’S APARTMENT – BATHROOM – NIGHT**

We hear the faucet running. Tyrell is looking at his reflection in the mirror. Messy hair. Disheveled clothes. Red eyes. Wounded expression. He washes his face. Uses a tissue to wipe away the evidence of his shame to the best of his ability. Adjusts his clothes. Runs a hand through his hair. Feigns a smile. Sighs.

**MR. ROBOT (O.S.)**

What the fuck?

Tyrell flinches. We hear heavy steps toward the bathroom. Mr. Robot rips the door open, grabs Tyrell’s collar. Tyrell backs into the sink.

**MR. ROBOT**

It’s all wrong, it’s not working.

**TYRELL**

Maybe because she’s been rotting in her grave for weeks—

**MR. ROBOT**

(tightening his grip)

Or maybe because you were a fucking idiot and stabbed her in the wrong part of the brain.

He raises a fist. Tyrell freezes.

**TYRELL**

(weakly)

Please don’t. Please. I’m sorry. I wanted to help Elliot, I love him, you know I love him. Please.

Something in Mr. Robot’s expression changes. He looks at his arm, then at Tyrell, then back at his arm. Lowers his fist. Lets go of Tyrell.

**ELLIOT**

Tyrell? (pause) What the _fuck_ is going on?

**TYRELL**

Elliot— It isn’t what it— He— I didn’t want to—

**ELLIOT**

Tyrell. Hey. Calm down, man.

He awkwardly places a hand on Tyrell’s shoulder. Tyrell hugs Elliot, fingertips buried in the fabric of his sweater. Elliot stands motionless for a few moments, then hesitantly wraps his arms around Tyrell.


End file.
